


Assassin Business

by noblethoughts



Category: Assassin's Creed
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Fluff, Gen, M/M, Mild Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-30
Updated: 2016-01-30
Packaged: 2018-05-17 05:22:38
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 8,393
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5855713
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/noblethoughts/pseuds/noblethoughts
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In which a young Connor Kenway and his friend Clipper Wilkinson infiltrate the Templar Grandmaster's bedroom in the name of Assassin investigation.</p>
<p>A modern AU of Connor's perspective on his parents' relationship, an innocent Pomeranian, and the Templar-Assassin battle for the fate of mankind.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Was going over my old writing and found this piece I quickly wrote for an AC kink meme prompt two years ago about Connor and Clipper being trapped under the bed while sex occurred. Thought it was charming and decided to post it as-is to some place more permanent. Hope you enjoy!

Connor was pacing around his room when he finally heard the sound of pebbles being tossed at the window. Immediately he rushed to the sill, squinting out into the darkness. The porch lights were on and he could make out a young boy standing outside, stooped to grab more pebbles to toss at Connor’s second-story bedroom window.

Finally he was here. Connor had called him nearly fifteen minutes ago and said it was an emergency and to bring all of the guns he could stuff into his bag. It’d taken a while to convince Clipper to sneak out of his house, since it was nearly 8:00 and both of their bedtimes. But after Connor had insisted it was an emergency over and over, Clipper had relented.

Connor shoved open the window and stuck his head outside. Clipper was lucky it wasn’t a super emergency, or the mission might have been compromised in the fifteen minutes it took him to get over here.

“Clipper!” he hissed down to the boy standing in the garden. “Get up here!”

Clipper dropped the pebbles in his hand and looked up as he heard Connor. He hesitated, shifting his weight, not sure whether to shout or whisper. “I can’t climb up that, Connor!” he finally hissed back. “Why can’t I just use the front door?”

Connor rolled his eyes and gave a loud sigh. Clipper was his best friend, but he didn’t seem to understand what it meant to be an _Assassin_ no matter how many times Connor explained it to him. Assassins were stealthy and smart and perfectly capable of climbing up the side of a house. Connor climbed up the house all the time. Not that his father knew; he get grounded for sure if he ever found out. And then his father would tell his mother, and even though his mom let him sit on the roof with her and watch the city lights, she’d flip her lid and all in all his mother’s temper was something Connor would rather avoid.

Which is why scaling his father’s house was an _Assassin_ secret. One that Clipper would obviously spoil if he went and rang the doorbell.

“Assassins don’t use front doors!” Connor reminded him for what could have been the millionth time.

“I’m not an assassin, I’m a...” He seemed to be struggling to remember what role Connor had given him. “I’m a sharpshooter!”

“An _Assassin_ sharpshooter!” Connor leaned further out of the window. Clipper couldn’t seem to understand that he was both. Connor was an Assassin assassin, and Clipper was an Assassin sharpshooter. Not that hard to remember. “Come on, I’ll help you! It’s easy!”

Even in the dim light he could tell that Clipper wasn’t too convinced. That’s why he needed Connor to lead him, or else he’d probably get nothing done. But Clipper approached the side of the house and looked up at him expectantly.

“Okay, get on the electric box!” Connor directed, waving his hand at the green utility box covered with warning pictures of people getting zapped. Good thing it was dark and Clipper wouldn’t notice those. When Clipper climbed up onto the box dutifully, Connor pointed again. “Alright you gotta climb up the fence!”

It wasn’t a fence but a trellis, erected so his father’s vines and stupid boo-gan-vill-eas could grow up the side of the house. Either way, Connor found that its position right beneath his window made it easy to enter and exit the house without having to worry about running into his father or Charles Lee.

“I don’t think that’s safe—” Clipper started to whine, but Connor cut him off.

“I do it all the time! Trust me!”

Clipper sucked in a breath, gripping the fence beneath the foliage. He stuck his foot in one of the holes in the trellis and then slowly the other one. The flowers shook with his weight, but the trellis didn’t fall, as he’d half-expected.

He began to climb upwards, trying not to step on any of the flowers and also avoiding looking up or down. As he neared the top the entire trellis began to shake.

“Connor!” Clipper shouted and froze up, holding tight to the trellis.

“Put your foot on that brick right there!” Connor said as he leaned out of the window, reaching out for Clipper’s hand. He could hear Clipper shakily exhale but he put his weight on the loose brick and pushed upwards. It gave him the leverage needed for Connor to grab his hand. Clipper’s feet scraped against the side of the house as Connor pulled him inside. He dragged Clipper through the open window and both of them collapsed onto the rug.

“That was not easy,” Clipper pouted as soon as he caught his breath.

Connor ignored him. “You got the guns?” he asked, his voice deadly serious.

Clipper huffed, slipping the backpack off his shoulders. “Yeah,” he said, unzipping it. Clipper was Connor’s sharpshooter because he owned probably a thousand and one Nerf guns. Clipper had like fifty brothers and they kept all of their Nerf guns in the garage. Connor only had one Nerf gun that his father had bought him that time Connor had been dragged out to run errands with him and Charles. But it wasn’t as cool as Clipper’s Nerf guns.

Connor’s eyes lit up immediately and he began to paw through the backpack. His favorite was the big pistol that he could stick into his jeans pocket like a holster. Clipper always chose the Nerf sniper rifle, which was three feet long and could shoot up to twenty feet. Connor wasn’t sure exactly how far twenty feet was, but that’s what it had said on the box.

“Where’s your bow?” Clipper asked him, sitting back as Connor took his pick of the Nerf guns.

“It was confiscated,” Connor grumbled. Confiscated by his mother of all people. Apparently it was authentic and belonged to his great-grandfather, and the reason why it was sitting on the mantle was not so little boys could take it and try to shoot real flint-tipped arrows at the vegetables in their fathers’ gardens.

Clipper said nothing as Connor found his favorite gun (which actually belonged to Clipper’s brother Emory). The bottom of the backpack was filled with loose Nerf darts and Connor grabbed a handful, shoving them in his other pants pocket. It was always best to be prepared in case something went wrong on a mission. On the mission to assassinate Charles’s annoying dog Spado, they’d used up all of their ammo shooting at the Pomeranian from the kitchen window, and had none left for when Charles Lee appeared.

“So what’s the emergency?” Clipper finally asked.

Connor frowned as he jammed Nerf darts into his gun. “We gotta do some spy work.”

“I thought we were assassins.”

“Assassins do spy work!” Connor apparently had to write down exactly what Assassin’s did and tape it to Clipper’s forehead, because his friend kept on forgetting. In all actuality Assassins did pretty much whatever Connor wanted to do at the time, but he liked to pretend that there was an official Assassin’s Creed that everyone had to follow. “The Templars are in the drawing room—”

“What’s a drawing room?” Clipper interjected.

Connor scrunched up his face. He’d heard his father use the word once, but he couldn’t remember what room he was talking about. “It’s the room that adults draw pictures in and stuff. S’not important. What’s important is that the Templars are busy so we can do some looking around.”

“What’re we looking for?” Clipper asked, leaning forward to grab his Nerf rifle from the top of the bag.

“Anything.” Connor’s voice dropped to a whisper again as he became eager. “Something that tells us what they’re planning.”

“Are your dad and Charles Lee the only Templars?”

“No way. My dad’s just the leader of them,” Connor sniffed, as though he was a little proud of that fact. “There’s Templars everywhere. My dad’s work is just a cover for Templars.”

“Abstergo Industries?” Clipper clarified. Abstergo Industries’s local hub fueled the town economically and a lot of people worked there, Connor’s father and Charles Lee included.

“Yeah.” Connor stood, dusting off his pants. “All Templars.” His father would invite over work friends to have dinner from time to time. Most of them were mean or just ignored Connor, but one of his father’s friends was really nice and had a beard and spoke with a funny accent. He told Connor to call him William and brought Connor a stick of rock candy. Connor would’ve liked him if he didn’t work at Abstergo and wasn’t an evil Templar. But he was, so Connor had to throw the candy out and spend the entire evening spying on his father’s coworkers with his binoculars from the banister.

“What about your mom?”

Connor rolled his eyes as he zipped Clipper’s backpack back up. “She says she doesn’t want to get involved,” he replied. Which was ridiculous, because in the battle over the fate of mankind, one would think she’d want to be involved.

The only adult Connor knew was on his side was Grandpa Edward. Connor became convinced that Grandpa Edward was an Assassin the moment Grandpa Edward let him steer his boat when they were out at open sea. His father was completely against the idea, but Grandpa Edward had insisted it was fine, Connor was a Kenway. He’d clapped Connor on the back and called him “Captain Connor” and taught him which way was starboard and which way was port. When Grandpa Edward took the wheel back, he said he was going to have to get Connor a little sailor’s hat, because Connor was a natural-born seaman. Connor had decided there was no way someone as cool as Grandpa Edward could be a Templar.

So he’d told Grandpa Edward about the Templars and the Assassins and that he was sure his grandpa was an Assassin. Grandpa Edward had laughed and winked at him – Connor was a smart boy, he’d said. Connor shared his secret Assassin plans with him and told him about how his best friend Clipper was an Assassin too and he had a lot of Nerf guns. He told him how the Templars were still trying to take over the world and mind control people into doing things they didn’t want to do, like his first grade teacher Mr. Rodrigo who wouldn’t let him stay inside and read during recess or bring his stuffed turkey to school.

When Connor asked how his father had turned into a Templar, Grandpa Edward got really quiet and sad. Grandpa Edward said it wasn’t Haytham’s fault. Sometimes Assassins try really hard, he’d said, so hard that they end up forgetting what’s most important to them. He hoped that someday Haytham would become an Assassin again. Connor doubted it. His father couldn’t be an Assassin. He was about as Templar as they came.

“Okay,” Connor said as he hopped up. He shoved Clipper’s backpack underneath his bed with his foot – he couldn’t risk his father checking in on him and noticing the foreign backpack right in the middle of the floor. “We’ll write down everything we find in the mission log.”

The mission log was a bound notebook with Connor’s Assassin symbol on the front. Grandpa Edward had gotten it for him for his birthday, and Connor kept it in his underwear drawer so neither his father nor Charles would stumble across it. If they looked through the book and discovered all of his Assassin missions, everything would be compromised. Connor only shared the mission log with Grandpa Edward when they went to visit.

Mission log and pencil in his hoodie pocket and his hand brushing against his Nerf pistol, Connor turned back to Clipper, who was still sitting cross-legged on the ground and picking at a loose string on the carpet.

“Ready?” Connor urged.

Clipper glanced up and grudgingly got to his feet. He tilted the large Nerf gun against his shoulder. “Aye, captain,” he replied with a tired salute.

Connor preferred to be called grandmaster, but captain was going to be good enough. He grinned at Clipper as he crept over towards the bedroom door and turned the knob. “Let’s move,” he whispered, pulling the white hood of his Washington Elementary School sweatshirt up over his head and opening the door into the hallway.


	2. Chapter 2

Connor crept out into the hallway first, stooped close to the ground. He jerked his head over his shoulder, motioning for Clipper to follow. As Clipper slunk out of the room Connor closed the door behind them, turning the knob after the door was shut so it made no noise.

“Where are we going?” Clipper hissed to him. He was having difficulty balancing the giant Nerf gun on his shoulder.

“Their headquarters,” Connor replied in a hushed voice, brushing past him to take the lead. Haytham and Charles’s room was just right down the hall from his. His father never let him into his room, which made Connor draw the logical conclusion that there must be secret Templar information hidden in there.

The banister overlooked the living room and from the soft voices from the television Connor could tell that the two evil Templars were down there. This was going to be the hardest part of the mission: sneaking past them. He stopped so abruptly that Clipper ran into his back and Connor whirled around, pressing his index finger to his lips to shush him. He sank back against the wall and Clipper scooted next to him. Cautiously, very cautiously, Connor peeked his head around the corner and looking down the staircase to the living room.

He made a disgusted face, leaning back immediately. The Templar Grandmaster and his second were indeed on the couch, but Charles was practically in Haytham’s lap and it looked like he was trying to suck the skin off his neck.

“Gross,” Connor whispered, retching.

“What’re they doing?” Clipper’s eyes grew to the size of saucers and he tried to lean forward to get a peek. Connor shoved him back but Clipper was strong when he wanted to be and nudged around Connor. He gaped down at the living room where the two Templars were now lip-locked. “They’re kissing!”

“I told you!” Connor dragged Clipper back behind the corner. He glared in concentration. “We gotta sneak by.”

Clipper craned his neck to look again. “We could probably just walk right by, Connor. They look pretty—”

Connor cut him off with a dismissive snort and dropped down to his hands and knees. Slurping at each other or not, it was important not to underestimate the Templars. There were times that Connor thought his father wasn’t paying attention, such as during the mission to confiscate and consume Haytham’s leftover mousse from the fancy restaurant he’d forced Connor to go to. His father wasn’t as engrossed in his newspaper as Connor had thought and that mission was written down as a failure.

Connor lowered himself onto his belly and pinched his tongue in between his teeth. The gap where the Templars would be able to see him was only about twice as long as he was, about nine feet (he knew he was four and a half feet because he measured himself last week against the wall at his mom’s house). He army crawled forward, scooting across the floor, pressing himself as close to the ground as possible. He kept a steady eye on the Templars, but they didn’t even notice the little boy wiggling across the second-floor hallway. Charles was sitting on Haytham’s lap like he was riding a pony and the television droned on. This would teach them to let their guard down without checking to make sure Connor was actually in bed. Connor scrambled behind the far wall and curled his knees up to his chest, safe and out of sight.

Clipper clutched his Nerf gun tightly. Connor could tell that his sharpshooter was looking to bail on the mission and so he shot him a deadly look, frantically motioning for him to hurry. Clipper slowly got down on his knees. He peeked around the corner and then frantically crawled across the gap on his hands and knees. Connor could have hit his head against the wall. He clearly demonstrated how it was supposed to be done and still Clipper couldn’t imitate him. But his father and Charles hadn’t even noticed the soft thumping. Some Templars they were.

Connor wrestled the mission log out of his hoodie pocket and flipped it open as Clipper pressed against the wall next to him.

_Spy Mission_

Connor wrote at the top of the page and underlined it.

_Templars distracted. assassins have element of surprise._

He was proud of himself for learning how to spell “Assassin” correctly. His mother had to write it over and over for him.

The mission was going perfectly so far. Connor shoved the mission log back into his large pocket and stood, dragging Clipper up with him. He motioned to door at the far end of the hall. The master bedroom: the place where Connor wasn’t allowed to go. The two boys crept to the end of the hall and paused before the large door. Connor cracked a little grin as he grabbed the doorknob and pushed the door open.

The master bedroom was impossibly clean. It looked like someone had died in there. Connor tiptoed inside and Clipper followed, pressing close behind him.

“Shut the door!” Connor whispered and Clipper bobbed his head vigorously, closing the door behind him.

“Connor—” he started.

Connor knew that Clipper intended to start whining about how they shouldn’t be poking around in his father’s room, and he waved a hand dismissively at him. “Start looking!”

“For what?” Clipper was glancing around the room as if something was going to jump out at him.

“Anything,” Connor said in a voice just above a whisper. “Templar plans. Abstergo stuff. Something about my dad or Charles Lee.”

Connor couldn’t entirely hate his father, even though he was, after all, a diabolical Templar. But he was his father and that meant his mother had thought he was okay at some point, and Haytham did cut the crusts off of Connor’s sandwiches if he whined enough. But Charles Lee was a different matter. Charles Lee was evil. Connor had known that ever since he’d met him. Haytham came back into Connor’s life with Charles already in tow. They were a pair, and from the beginning Charles made it abundantly clear that he didn’t know how to deal with children and he’d never thought he would have to. For his part, Connor made it abundantly clear that he’d never thought he would have to deal with a grouchy man who was obsessed with his Pomeranian and didn’t even know you were supposed to cut sandwiches into triangles and not rectangles.

Charles downright avoided him, not that Connor cared what that stupid mustache-faced Templar did. Ever since the time when Charles shoved him up against the wall, Charles rarely even said a word to him. It hadn’t even been a mission. It was just him yelling at Charles and Charles snapping at him and then all of a sudden Charles snapped altogether and grabbed Connor’s shirt and pushed him up against the wall. Connor had always hated Charles Lee, but that was the first time he’d ever been scared of him. His father had come in and demanded for Charles to release Connor immediately. When his father dragged Charles upstairs to their room Connor could hear them yelling, that Connor was _his_ child and _he_ alone decided how to discipline him, that Connor was unruly and spoiled and _they_ weren’t going to work if Connor didn’t learn some respect.

If it was a mission, Connor supposed it would have been a success. Pitting Templar Grandmaster against his second-in-command, that was good. But he didn’t write it down in his mission log. Instead he curled up on his bed and tried to make the sick feeling in his stomach go away until his father called him for dinner. Charles wasn’t at the dinner table that night and Connor was glad the next day was Sunday so that he could go back to his mother’s house.

Connor pulled his Nerf pistol from his pocket, cocking it towards the ceiling as he scampered over to the wardrobe. He hid his mission log in his sock drawer; perhaps his father hid his Templar plans in his sock drawer. As he yanked out drawers and shoved around the neatly folded clothing, all he found was a quarter and a nickel. There was not a single Templar Master Plan in there. So the Templars were better at hiding their things than he thought.

“Connor... What’s that?” Clipper asked nervously from across the room. Connor’s head popped up. Clipper had opened the drawers of the nightstand on the side of the bed nearest to the door, and he was staring down at the drawer with a mixture of curiosity and disgust. Connor shoved closed the wardrobe drawers and trotted over to stand beside Clipper.

As he stared down at the open drawer, he realized that he had no idea what the strange object was either. It was long and pink and looked like it was made from glass. There were knobs on either end and the middle had lines going across it. Connor decided it looked like a very long worm.

“It’s a fake worm,” he told Clipper. Why it was in their nightstand drawer Connor hadn’t a clue, but surely this meant something. He was reaching down to grab it when he noticed something else beneath it. “Handcuffs!” Connor snapped, grabbing the handcuffs beneath the dildo and pulling them out accusingly. This was exactly the sort of incriminating evidence he was looking for.

Clipper was lingering timidly behind him. “Why does your dad have handcuffs?” he asked in a small voice.

“Someone has been held prisoner in here,” Connor replied, glancing around the room as if the victim would still be in there.

This was definitely going in the mission log. He tossed the handcuffs at Clipper, who squeaked and was too busy holding onto his Nerf gun to catch them. Connor whipped out his mission log and pressed it against his knee as he scribbled down notes.

• _Toy worm???_  
• _Handcuffs!!_

They were definitely getting somewhere. As he was shoving his mission log back inside of his hoodie, he realized something. He could no longer hear the television on downstairs.

“Clipper—” Connor began, but quieted immediately as he heard voices down the hall. He froze. His father and Charles were stumbling down the hall. “They’re coming! Hide!”

Clipper’s eyes bugged out of his head. “Where?” he asked and as he grabbed the handcuffs off the ground and dumped them back into the drawer. He sounded genuinely frightened. Connor slammed the drawer shut, his mind reeling. Assassins never lost their cool. They were smart and stealthy and could hide from Templars without detection.

“Under the bed!” he decided on a whim, gesturing frantically to the giant king-sized bed. Clipper needed no further direction and dove under the bed. Connor wiggled under after him, and the two boys pressed close together as the bedroom door flew open. Connor could see the legs of his father and Charles Lee. Even worse, by the strange sighing and groaning noises they were making, he guessed they were still kissing. Connor made a face and glanced over at Clipper. Judging by the other boy’s shocked expression, he’d come to the same conclusion as well.

The bed groaned and sank downwards as Haytham fell backwards onto it and Charles fell on top of him. Connor shifted a bit so he could pull out his mission log and his pencil. This was a prime spying position. Now if only they’d stop slobbering all over each other for a moment and start talking about Templar plans.


	3. Chapter 3

They didn’t stop. Connor could hear their clothes rustling together on top of the bed and the wet sounds from them still kissing each other. Every so often Charles would make this weird groaning noise, kind of like he was in pain but wasn’t.  
  
Connor lay tense beneath the bed, his hand gripping the pencil. His breathing sounded so loud as he tried his hardest to be quiet. He hadn’t thought about what his  _father_  would do if he found him underneath the bed, but he knew that the  _Templar Grandmaster_  would be furious, and Connor didn’t want to take any chances now that he knew there were handcuffs in the room. Maybe those were used on the last Assassin to try and eavesdrop from underneath the bed.  
  
Clipper was lying next to him and biting down on the sleeve of his jacket to keep himself quiet. Connor could feel him shaking. Clipper just wasn’t cut out for this assassin work, Connor thought. That’s why Connor was the assassin. As he glanced over at his friend, his face pinched into a “knock it off” glare, Clipper met his eyes. Clipper’s free hand reached out and he pulled the pencil out of Connor’s hand and wiggled closer to scrawl something in the mission log.  
  
_We need to go!!_  
  
Connor looked at him incredulously. Their intention was to do spy work, and while the handcuffs were a good find, surely there was more. Connor shook his head no. Clipper’s eyes widened even more in panic.  
  
_We’ll just tell your dad that we’re sorry!_  
  
Connor scowled at that. Some Assassin Clipper was, wanting to apologize to the Templar for their infiltration. He was surprised when Clipper glared right back at him. Connor knew that Clipper would go along with most things, but when Clipper was fed up, he made it very clear that he was done and the game was over. And Clipper was done. He dropped the pencil on top of the mission log and began to wiggle out from underneath the bed. Connor desperately grabbed his shirt to pull him back. If Clipper exposed himself, then the Templars would realize that Connor was underneath the bed as well. But then there was a scratching noise at the door and both of the boys froze.  
  
That was something Connor hadn’t considered: Spado. His father had left the door open a crack and in a moment there was a wet, black nose nudging at the gap. Spado’s fluffy head poked into the room and he shoved the door the rest of the way open as he wiggled inside the bedroom. Connor tried to steady his breathing as he watched Spado from behind the lacy bed skirt. Clipper wasn’t doing as good of a job of keeping quiet. He had pressed against Connor again, his fingernails digging into Connor’s jacket.  
  
Spado, that vengeful Templar dog, took only a moment to realize that there were hideaways underneath the bed. He began sniffing the carpet, padding over towards the bed. Spado sniffed underneath the bed skirt and his little black ears perked forward as he saw Connor and Clipper huddled together. Spado began yapping.  
  
“No!” Connor hissed beneath his breath. The sound was drowned out by the loud sighs from atop the bed. Clipper’s throat tightened and Spado’s tail wagged furiously behind him. And then suddenly the noises from above stopped and Haytham spoke.  
  
“Charles,” his father said, sounding exasperated.  
  
Charles sighed and the bed creaked as he rolled off of it. Connor could see his bare feet on the floor and as Charles Lee stooped. He grabbed Spado around the belly and pulled the wiggling Pomeranian out from underneath the bed. Charles walked over to the door, plopping Spado outside in the hall and shutting the bedroom door. Spado yipped twice and Connor heard the little dog’s nails against the door. There was a moment of silence and then the jingle of Spado’s collar became faint as the Pomeranian trotted down the hall. The bed lowered as Charles climbed back on.  
  
“There,” Charles Lee said. His voice got lower. “Now then.”  
  
Connor pressed himself closer to the dusty carpet, listening carefully to the sounds of buttons being undone and a zipper pulled down. When his father’s pants landed on the floor next to them with a thump, Clipper nearly jumped out of his skin. He grabbed Connor’s arm and listened in terror as Charles chuckled and Haytham’s underwear quickly joined the pants on the carpet. Clipper stared at Connor with wide eyes meant to convey his horror that Connor’s dad was now most definitely naked from the waist-down. Connor realized that with his father undressed on the top of the bed, Clipper wouldn’t dare try to flee now. The mission was no longer in danger of being compromised by Clipper.  
  
For how quiet Charles Lee was around Connor, he was sure making up for it now. His moans were muffled and the bed creaked as he kept shifting his weight. Every now and then he’d whisper “Haytham” in the most sickly, adoring voice Connor had ever heard. As far as Connor could tell, his father wasn’t moving around at all; he was just breathing really heavily. Charles’s moans stopped suddenly.  
  
“Are you still thinking about Cesare’s promotion?” Charles murmured. Hearing Charles Lee talk so softly and so affectionately made Connor’s stomach churn. Charles Lee was supposed to be evil.  
  
But this was good: this was valuable Templar information.   
  
_~~Ches~~  
~~Chezr~~  
Chezeray – Templar_  
  
His father made a surprised noise as he was shaken out of his thoughts. Then he sighed and Connor heard him settle back against the pillows. “He’s so young.”  
  
“The Italy branch is small.” Charles spoke between kisses, and he must have been doing something Haytham liked because Connor heard his father sigh again, but much more dreamily this time. “Vidic needs you here. He knows he can’t afford to move you elsewhere.”  
  
Connor frowned. He hadn’t known his father wanted to go to Italy. He didn’t know exactly where Italy was, but he knew it was in Europe and that was really far away.  
  
_Italy_  
  
Connor also wasn’t sure how he was going to get to Italy to defeat the Templars there, but he’d figure that out later. Maybe after the Templars in Massachusetts and all of the United States of America were defeated.  
  
“I suppose – ah, Charles!” Whatever his father was going to say was cut off by a gasp. Connor’s mouth twisted to the side. Things had been going so well. His father groaned, clearly having no intention of finishing that sentence. “ _Charles_...”  
  
Charles Lee didn’t reply but he was making a weird slurping sound. Haytham was sighing and moaning breathily, and Connor could hear him shifting on the bed. Clipper was as white as a sheet. He had a death grip on Connor’s hoodie and when he noticed Connor was looking at him, he grabbed the pencil again.  
  
_I saw my mom and dad do this. On acident not on purpose_  
  
Connor tilted his head. He was vaguely annoyed that Clipper was writing this in his mission log. He didn’t want “I saw my mom and dad do this” in the margins of his official mission report.  
  
_It’s_ gross  
  
Connor mouthed “What?” to him, but Clipper just shook his head back and forth rapidly.  
  
“Charles,” his father was saying on top of the bed. Clipper dropped the pencil as though spooked. Haytham sounded out of breath, but his voice was sharp and commanding, just as Connor would expect a Templar grandmaster’s to be. “On your knees. Now.”  
  
Charles moaned really loudly, but the sound was muted. Connor heard a wet pop and the bed bounced as both of them moved around. He ducked closer to Clipper as he saw his father’s hand appear over the side of the bed. Haytham wrenched open the top drawer and pulled out a bottle that looked like it could be sunscreen. Connor frowned as his father’s arm disappeared again. He didn’t know why adults would need sunscreen when they were being all gross and kissy.  
  
There was the sound of the lid popping open and shortly after Charles sighed shakily. His breathing became raspy and randomly he moaned out “Haytham, another.” Another what Connor wasn’t sure, but apparently his father knew what that meant because Charles hissed almost immediately. The bed started rocking forward and back again and after a bit Charles was growling something beneath his breath that sounded like strings of “yes, yes, yes, yes.”  
  
“Ready?” Connor’s father asked in that typical collected tone of his, but he seemed excited, definitely excited. He patted Charles and Charles groaned.  
  
“Yes,” Charles Lee replied hoarsely. “Goddamn, yes.” Another bad word, but his father didn’t say anything about it. It irked Connor that Charles Lee could get away with saying bad words and asking for the mashed potatoes without saying please and going out in the rain without a raincoat, but Connor couldn’t.  
  
Something was happening, though. The bed sunk down even more and the noises his father and Charles were making changed. His father gave a grunt amidst his panting and Charles Lee was gasping and moaning gently as if he couldn’t decide if he was happy or in pain. Clipper had begun to tremble again and was breathing so frantically that Connor was sure that his father would hear. He clapped a hand over his friend’s mouth, looking at him disapprovingly. Clipper inhaled sharply through his nose. Sometimes Assassins had to do really hard or scary missions, he wanted to tell Clipper as Grandpa Edward had told him. Grandpa Edward said his ship had once been a pirate ship (though Connor’s father had muttered something to Charles Lee about Craig’s List). And even though sometimes the Templar pirates were really tough and really scary, the Assassins never gave up. Ever.  
  
Even if their fathers’ groans were steadily getting louder from atop the bed.


	4. Chapter 4

The bed was rocking violently and Connor could hear the headboard hitting against the wall. The gravity of the situation was finally dawning on him. He began to feel a little scared. He wasn’t supposed to be in here right now, and he definitely wasn’t supposed to be hearing this. His father’s grunts sounded so unnatural compared to how he usually spoke and Connor knew he was intruding on something very, very personal, Templar business or not. He knew what sex was, but beyond that the act was fun and sometimes produced babies, he was a little fuzzy on the details.  
  
The rocking slowed considerably and Connor lifted his head a little, hoping that they were done.  
  
But then Charles Lee spoke up, his voice a growl. “Haytham!”  
  
“What do you need, Charles?” Haytham purred. Connor found this to be an odd time to ask that question.  
  
“Fuck,” Charles groaned, sounding not too happy about being quizzed. That was another really bad word. Connor had heard Mr. Hickey say it and his father had told Connor to never, ever repeat it. It was becoming apparent he didn’t have the same standards for Charles, because Haytham didn’t stop to reprimand him. “Haytham, more,  _please_.”  
  
His father gave a hoarse chuckle and the bed began to shake again. Clipper had clasped his hands over his ears and was squeezing his eyes shut as if that would block everything out. By his contorted expression, Connor was guessing that he could still hear the sound of the headboard and Charles hissing “Yes, there, Haytham, yes,” again and again.  
  
Connor was at a loss as to what to write in the mission log. This was more frustrating than anything: to be in a prime spying location and his father and Charles Lee were squandering it by just panting and shaking the bed around. He wouldn’t say this mission had been a failure, though. Some missions, like the mission to escape from the schoolyard through a small hole underneath the chain-link fence, had “FAILURE” written across them in red Crayon. But at least he’d found out that his father kept prisoners in the master bedroom and that the Templars were active in Italy. His father was busy with work a lot, but he never told Connor much about it, not about Italy or anything. It must have been a  _Templar secret_.  
  
“Charles, almost—” His father’s voice was tense, like he was holding onto something and trying hard not to let it drop.  
  
Charles’s moans suddenly became much more frantic and higher-pitched. He gasped and the noises he was making trembled. Haytham gave a soft shout and then gradually the bed stop creaking and everything was quiet except for Haytham and Charles’s mingled panting.  
  
Connor glanced over to Clipper with an eyebrow arched in a “Are they done?” sort of expression. Clipper widened his eyes and shrugged.  
  
“Feeling better?” Charles Lee asked teasingly and out of breath. They were shifting on top of the bed again.  
  
Haytham chuckled. “Quite,” he replied. “You always provide an irresistible distraction.”  
  
They were kissing again. Connor made a face. The bed was no longer rattling around, so they must have stopped doing whatever they were doing. He just had to hold out until they left or went to sleep or something. He sort of hoped that his father would go check on him and say goodnight (the pillows Connor had jammed under the blankets would fool him for sure, though), but as he heard them pulling back the sheets, he realized they intended to just go straight to sleep.  
  
The room went dark. Charles and his father were murmuring things to one another but Connor couldn’t make out their soft words. After a while their voices died out and he could hear them both breathing steadily on top of the bed.   
  
Connor was patient, but Clipper was fidgeting all over the place and nudging Connor as if he expected him to just curl up and a take a nap under his father’s bed instead of flee. It was nearly pitch dark, but Connor flashed him a flat look anyway. Trying to be as quiet as possible, he shoved his mission log back into his hoodie pocket. There was no movement from up above. He needed to escape before Clipper started crying or something and ruined all of their hard work.  
  
Connor jerked at Clipper’s shirt to get his attention. The other boy immediately stilled and Connor began to army crawl out from underneath the bed. Clipper followed clumsily, having a difficult time crawling and holding his gun. Connor was nearly completely out from underneath the bed when he turned around to look back at Clipper – and saw his father sitting up in bed.  
  
“Connor?” His father looked shocked at first, but his surprise quickly melted into anger.  
  
“Run, run!” Connor said frantically under his breath. He clambered to his feet and yanked the bedroom door open. He could hear Clipper right behind him as they sprinted down the hallway. Connor’s bedroom would be the first place his father would look, so Connor thundered down the stairs and ducked into the kitchen. He collapsed behind the island and Clipper plopped down right next to him, still hugging his Nerf gun to his chest.  
  
Clipper glanced over at Connor nervously. “What’s your dad gonna do when he finds us?”  
  
Connor was nervous too, but he was the leader and he couldn’t let Clipper see how scared he was. Leaders had to be brave. “I’ll handle him,” he said very bravely as he pulled his Nerf pistol out from his pocket.  
  
They were only sitting there for a minute before Connor heard the sound of heavy footsteps upstairs. Sure enough they went to his room first and he heard the muffled voice of his father – “Connor?” – before the footsteps backtracked and thumped down the stairs. Spado must have been helping him search; Connor could hear the Pomeranian’s collar jingle and his nails against the hardwood floor as his father descended the stairs.  
  
“Connor!” his father said again. The kitchen lights came on. He must have heard their heaving breathing because he stopped and his voice hardened. “Connor, come out this instant.”  
  
They were cornered. No matter where they ran in the house, his father would find them. Connor poked his head up above the island and balanced his pistol on the tile surface. Haytham was standing in the doorway and at his feet was Spado, looking happy to be a part of this exciting night. Haytham looked less pleased. His greying hair was out of its ponytail and lay across his shoulders. He’d had the decency to put on a nightshirt and pants at least.  
  
“We’ll never surrender,” Connor declared as he aimed the Nerf gun at his father. Clipper shakily stood beside him, but he tilted his gun so that it was aimed at the wall instead.  
  
“If you shoot me, this night will be worse than you can even imagine.” His father spoke slowly and dangerously as he took a few steps towards them. “I suggest you put down the guns and give them to me right now.”  
  
He must have been using his diabolical powers because Connor felt himself relenting. Clipper wasn’t even able to last under Haytham’s venomous gaze as long as Connor; he put down his gun immediately and held up his hands. Connor gave a defiant snort but dropped the Nerf gun onto the island and shoved his hands into his hoodie pocket.  
  
“Here’s what’s going to happen,” Haytham continued. “Clipper, you are going to sit down and wait while I call your parents. And Connor, when I come upstairs I expect you to be in your pajamas and in bed. Do I make myself clear?”  
  
Clipper was nodding his head like a round-eyed bobblehead doll. Connor rolled his eyes.  
  
“Yes,  _father_.” He spat out the word as he slunk around the island and marched up the stairs. Spado wagged his tail as Connor passed and Connor thought he looked extremely delighted about the capture of Master Assassin Connor Kenway.


	5. Chapter 5

Connor was in bed underneath the covers with his knees pulled up to his chest when his father walked in. He’d shoved his mission log underneath his wool socks again as soon as he’d entered the room. The mission was still a success, but he had that sick feeling all over again. Doing missions was hard when he felt all bad and guilty whenever the Templar Grandmaster was upset with him. He wasn’t supposed to care, but he did, and by the time he’d pried his hoodie off and was changing into his pajamas he felt tears welling up in his eyes and it was like the time Charles had pushed him against a wall all over again.  
  
His father came into the room very quietly. He didn’t look mad, just stoic. He looked disappointed, like when Mr. Rodrigo told Haytham about Connor’s mission to escape from the schoolyard through a small hole underneath the chain-link fence.  
  
“Clipper’s father is coming to get him,” Haytham said as he sat down on the foot of Connor’s bed. “He’s very angry.”  
  
Connor gave a noncommittal snort and continued to stare down at his blankets. Clipper’s dad hated him. He didn’t like how Connor would chase their pigs around.  
  
His father was quiet for a moment before he continued. “Connor, why were you and Clipper under the bed?”  
  
Connor looked away, avoiding the Templar’s gaze. Assassins didn’t break during interrogations. They also didn’t want their fathers to see them crying.  
  
“Connor, you need to tell me.”  
  
“We were spying,” Connor muttered as he wiped his eye with the heel of his hand as casually as he could.  
  
“Spying on Charles and I?” His father sounded shocked.  
  
Connor shook his head. “We were... we were looking for Templar stuff and then you came in so we had to hide under the bed.”  
  
Haytham paused. Connor had told him about the Templars before and though Haytham tried to dissuade him, that was all the boy talked about when they went to visit Edward. “Templar stuff?” he asked, and Connor could hear the anger beneath his words.  
  
“Stuff about your secret plans,” Connor replied in a small voice.  
  
“You went into my room, went through my and Charles’s  _personal belongings_ , because you wanted to find evidence of some... some secret plan?” His father’s anger was mounting. Connor wouldn’t look at him. “There is no secret plan, Connor! There are no Templars! This childish nonsense needs to stop!”  
  
“It’s not nonsense!” Connor yelled back, trying to match his father’s angry tone. But his voice sounded weak and hollow and he felt tears coming again. “You don’t care – don’t care about anything besides stupid Charles and Abstergo and you don’t even w-want me!”  
  
Haytham got very quiet. “Who ever said I didn’t want you?”  
  
“You’d rather be in Italy with Chez... Chezzer and then I wouldn’t be there to make you and Charles yell at each other,” Connor replied hoarsely. He wrapped his arms around his legs underneath the blanket, still not daring to look up at his father’s face. This part was not going in the mission log. Connor was a tough Assassin who didn’t need his father to hold his hand or provide kind words of encouragement.  
  
Though maybe just once in a while, that’d be nice.  
  
Haytham didn’t say anything. After a moment Connor heard him move closer so he was sitting right beside Connor’s legs. And then he did something strange: he leaned over and wrapped his arm around Connor and tried to hold him close. Connor stiffened. His father didn’t hug people; he didn’t even hug Charles.  
  
“Connor...” he said and he sounded sad.  
  
Hesitantly, Connor leaned against him. “Grandpa Edward says you used to be an Assassin,” he replied in a whisper with a loud sniffle.  
  
“What?”  
  
“He says, he said you used to be an Assassin.” Connor’s breath hitched. “And it’s all his fault you turned into an evil Templar.”  
  
Out of the corner of his eye Connor could see his father’s lips purse as they did when he was thinking about something.  
  
“What do Templars do again?” he finally asked, his voice surprisingly soft.  
  
Connor tried to hide his teary face in his father’s shirt. “T-they want to control people’s minds. And they make them do stuff they don’t wanna do. And maybe it’s not bad stuff, but they shouldn’t be allowed to do that, they shouldn’t get to tell everyone what to do.”  
  
His father was silent for a long time, as if just actually listening to Connor talk about Templars and him being the grandmaster for the very first time. He reached up and gently stroked the boy’s hair. When he finally did reply, he spoke very quietly.  
  
“Connor, I’ve got something very important to tell you,” he said. “Are you listening?”  
  
Connor looked up, his eyes watery. He nodded. He’d gotten the front of his father’s nightshirt wet, but Haytham didn’t seem to mind.  
  
His father looked back down at him and he hesitated for a moment, trying to find words. “I’m... not actually a Templar.”  
  
Connor frowned immediately. “Yes you are,” he said. Though there were still lines of tears on his face, his voice seemed to regain vigor. He had always known his father was a Templar. He just was. “You’re the... the grandmaster.”  
  
His father shook his head. “That’s what I needed you to think. You see, Connor, I’ve been in espionage for the last few years.”  
  
“Espionage?” Connor asked. He didn’t know what that word meant, but he knew it was important.  
  
“It’s a fancy word for a spy.”  
  
Connor’s eyes widened. His voice dropped to a whisper as he stared in awe up at his father. “You’re a spy?”  
  
His father smiled gently. It’d been a while since Connor had seen him smile. “I am. I’m an Assassin, Connor. My mission is to spy on the Templars.”  
  
“Does Charles know?” Connor whispered, leaning in close.  
  
“He does,” his father said. “Charles used to be a Templar. But now he’s helping me.”  
  
“What about William?”  
  
His father looked surprised for a moment, but he should have known better than to think Connor would have forgotten someone that gave him candy. “Mr. Johnson too. All of them, they’re all undercover. That’s why I invite them over. We have to discuss secret Assassin business.”  
  
“Can I discuss secret Assassin business too?” Connor asked. The tears were gone from his face and he was smiling from cheek to cheek.  
  
“How about,” his father said, “Tomorrow you and I spend the day together. Just the two of us. And we can discuss secret Assassin business together.”  
  
“No Charles?” Connor pressed.  
  
“No Charles,” Haytham agreed.  
  
Connor sat back, considering all of this. It made a lot of sense, now that he thought about it. His mother never would have wanted to be with a Templar, even if he was the grandmaster. And his father did have William and everyone over a lot and they’d stay up really late, past Connor’s bedtime, and talk together. His father was leading the rebellion inside of Abstergo Industries. Connor would have to show him his mission log of all of the Assassin missions he’d completed. He also probably needed apologize for stealing his father’s Abstergo paperwork, but that was all before he knew his father was actually an Assassin.  
  
“Okay,” he said, and when he leaned back he was smiling. He released Haytham’s shirt and gripped his blankets again.  
  
“Alright,” his father said and slowly stood up. He adjusted his nightshirt, which now had a tear stain on the chest. “Go to sleep. I’ll have a talk with Mr. Wilkinson.”  
  
Connor loved it when his father “had a talk” with people. No one could stand up to Haytham Kenway. Not Mr. Rodrigo, and definitely not Mr. Wilkinson.  
  
“Dad?” Connor whispered loudly as Haytham was about to leave the room. The man paused, looking back over his shoulder at his son. Connor had pulled the bed sheets up to his chin and was peering curiously at his father. “Who did you hold prisoner with those handcuffs?”  
  
Haytham was silent for a moment, then flipped the lights off. “Good night, Connor.”  
  
It must have been secret Assassin business.


End file.
